I mumble an apology, quickly wiping out the carrier with some paper towels now that I'm not juggling an angry cat and his carrier. I get Sunny put back in, and he just starts yowling again to be let out. With my head down, I shuffle after the nice, non-judgmental, tech back through the office and into a room. There I promptly set the carrier on the exam table and unzip it to let him out–and he lays inside, looking smug, like he isn’t the reason for this whole debacle.
Chapter 3
I’m counting down the time till lunch, and wondering what Jacks packed me today. I kind of love the surprise of it every day. I feel like a big nerd even admitting that, but it’s always nice to know that someone’s thinking about you–and cares enough to put thought into what you like. He always manages to do something special for each of us.
“Your next appointment is in room five,” says Maggie, walking by and putting a thick folder in the file slot hanging by the door with the number 5 in bold black print.
Either this creature has had a lot of health issues, or its geriatric. I guess we’re going to find out. I finish drying my hands and pick up the overstuffed folder.
Name: Sunny Manning
Owner: Candice Manning
Feline – Male/Altered
Main Coon Mix – Ginger
Age – 18 yrs, 6 months
Complaint: coughing, recurrent nausea and vomiting, lethargy; no change in diet or litter box.
Looking back at his history, this isn’t the first time he has been seen for stomach issues, but it’s not anywhere near the holidays. Still, we’d better get some imaging anyway, just to make sure there’s not a blockage. Still scanning the file, I open the door and step inside. “Ms. Manning and Sunny?” I verify, without looking up.
“Um…yeah, that’s us,” is the mumbled reply. “Good Afternoon. I’m Dr. Leo Asher, but everybody just calls me Dr. Leo. How can I help you today?” I ask, still reading through the overstuffed file.
“Oh, uh, well, Sunny keeps getting sick; he can’t seem to stop coughing. He’ll cough so hard he just barfs…on everything. I'm really worried about him.” The soft voice finally registers and I raise my eyes to a tiny beta woman sitting on the exam room bench. She’s wearing an oversized sweater and black leggings, her deep auburn hair is twisted up into some kind of knot at the back of her head, and I have the craziest urge to know what her downcast eyes look like. Her hand is stretched up, scratching the cat who looks perfectly content staying in his carrier on the table.
And suddenly, I can’t breathe–why can’t I breathe–why am I getting distracted right now?
Not the time, Leo, what is wrong with you, she is here for her cat, check out the cat!
It feels like all the oxygen has been sucked out of the room, but she isn’t even looking at me, her attention is focused solely on the giant orange feline that she pulls out of the carrier and into her lap. Her eyes stay downcast, her lips curved down in worry. I fight the urge to reach out and smooth the wrinkle forming between her brows.
“If you could just put him up here on the exam table, I’ll take a look.” I finally get enough oxygen to speak and put as much encouragement as possible into it. She looks so lost, and for some reason I'm almost desperate to heal her cat so she’ll stop being sad.
She manages to heft the increasingly angry animal onto the table, without getting more than a low growl from it. I reach out to rub his ears and try to help him relax so we can get a temperature and check for any noticeable physical issues.
“Now, it looks like Sunny has a history of eating things he shouldn’t, so my first thought would be to ask if we can do some x-rays,” I say, pressing along the underside of his stomach, no noticeable blockages or hard areas, but there’s no way to be sure without those scans.
I keep one hand on him, leaning back and calling Maggie to have her come take the cat for X-rays, while I look over at his owner again. I know I shouldn’t, but I just can’t seem to stop staring at her. She has big blue eyes, shiny with unshed tears, and she’s staring up at me.I feel like a deer caught in the headlights.
Please don’t let there be anything majorly wrong with this cat. I don’t want to see this woman cry.
Honestly I’m not sure how I would react right now.
Candice
This guy is huge.
He is tall, so much taller than me, but he doesn’t feel intimidating. Honestly, his messy black hair and dark, almond shaped eyes help sooth my frazzled nerves.
Between his calm demeanor and his barely there scent of oranges and chai, I’m less jittery than I was when I came in. I wish I could smell him better, but the purifiers and cleaning chemicals they use here block out almost everything. My instincts are screaming at me to climb him like a tree and not let go–which is a terrible idea really, but super hard to resist when he smiles like that, and when he looks at Sunny like he actually cares about helping him feel better.
I think my brain short circuited between worrying about Sunny and work. I know the name, Dr. Leo, but my brain feelsscrambled right now, and I can’t think. Was that the name of the new exotic animal vet that they brought in a few months ago?
I've been nearly frantic lately, how the hell am I going to afford any extra medication. I mean, I know I’ve read about pet insurance, and I kept meaning to look into it, but I haven’t had the time, or money. Plus I always thought Iggy would be the one to need it since she is considered fancy. Sunny is just a cat, an old cat…a cat I got when I was nine–Oh Shit–I didn’t realize he was that old.
“Please old man, I know I told you to stop eating shit…er…stuff you find on the floor, but please tell me that’s what happened this time.” Sunny yowls loudly at me, indignant at the vet and his recent foray into taking my cat’s temperature. I bring my forehead down to nuzzle against Sunny's fuzzy face. The thought just occurred to me that with his age, this might be something worse. I can feel a tear trying to escape, but I don’t want to cry in front of this stranger.
